


Lanterns Lit

by second lancaster (neenlancaster)



Category: Hamlet - All Media Types, Hamlet - Shakespeare
Genre: Death, I promise it's less dark than it sounds, M/M, Mild Gore, Other, Probably ooc, Suicidal Thoughts, dark themes, discussion of past events, hamlet is just me projecting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-08 09:22:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20833115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neenlancaster/pseuds/second%20lancaster
Summary: Sometimes things break. They get out of control and spiral into chaos. Things are too loud, too dark. Sometimes, Hamlet feels insane.





	Lanterns Lit

**Author's Note:**

> So, few things before you read this. This is the first fic I have ever, and I do mean ever, written. So it's not particularly good. But hey, it exists!  
Secondly, this is just me projecting all my feelings and traumas and issues onto Hamlet because sometimes life is like that. I just had some things that I couldn't deal with alone and I needed somewhere to put all of this.  
Lastly, the title is from the Son Lux song, which I love.

It was a particularly bad night. The sound of thunder shook the trees and the wind was as unforgiving, making the branches creek like the screams of a dying man. Inside, it was dark already, the room only being lit by a single candle resting at the wooden table. All that broke the sound of the storm outside was the insistent drumming of fingers on wood. It had no rhythm, but it made the chaos outside seem quieter than what went on inside.  
Hamlet was restless. That happened with certain frequency, but it never got easier. The feeling that he had lost himself along the way. Trying to be who he needed to be. Who others needed him to be. He missed university. He missed Horatio, more than anything. He missed being able to feel, for a moment, like things were going to work. To feel normal, accepted. 

~ 

The sun shined through the trees and made everything feel less colourless. Hamlet liked days like that. He felt safe, hopeful. Horatio laid on the grass next to him, a book on hand. He smiled to himself.  
“I wish I could remember this”  
Horatio looked over to him, raising an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”  
Hamlet sighed, rolling over to face the sky. “I don’t know”, he whispered, “I feel like this will the last time I see the sun”.  
“I don’t think the sun will go anywhere” Horatio chuckled.  
“No, for you, it won’t” Hamlet said, more to himself than anyone else. “For me, it will hide among the clouds and all left for me will be the yearning to touch the stars”.  
“Well, when that happens I'll be here, right?” the other said, looking up from the book and into Hamlet’s eyes. “You don’t need to worry about that. The stars can wait for you.”

~

It was common to think that he planned it all. That he faked his so called madness. That it was all in favour of the great scheme of things. But others couldn't see what he felt, could they? His father had been murdered. Taken from him. He was too young to know how to be alone in a house full of people that saw him as someone he wasn't. His mother had married another man, a man with blood of his own family tainting his hands. And that left Hamlet. That left him against the world, against an uncertain future and a life surrounded by lies. He already knew he had many things yet to learn, as a prince and as a person, but, before it all went to hell, he had hoped killing a man wasn't one of the lessons. He had been mistaken and now he saw that, inevitably, he wouldn't leave life without taking someone else's.

~ 

The first time he felt blood soaking his hands was by accident. He had been trying to catch a deer, with no avail. By the time the sun was gone, Hamlet didn’t know where he was. He tried resting against a tree near a pond, catch his breath. It went too fast. Faster then he would have expected, really. A man came up to the sleeping prince, quietly, but not quiet enough. Once the knife was in his hand and then the man was on the ground. He gargled as he tried to desperately hold his throat closed. Hamlet wasn’t sure what had happened. It didn’t feel like it was his own hand holding the blade. Himself that had taken a life, so easily. Blood seemed to flow endlessly between the man’s fingers. Hamlet stood there, knife in hand, watching. The man tried to hold onto the prince’s shoulders, mouth moving without sound. The wet sound of his screams, blood pumping more and more as he struggled.  
Once.  
Twice.  
And then, he stopped.  
Dropped to the ground, eyes still open. Crimson gathered around his head, in a pool. Hamlet stared at his rippling reflection, painted red. He felt his breath stop. Then it started again, fast enough for him to feel like he was also dying, like he would suffocate.  
Hamlet left the man in the woods and ran, blood still warm.  
Death didn’t care who you used to be. Death didn’t care if you were royal or not. Skulls were skulls and coffins were coffins. Princes were mortal and death didn’t care. And because of that, Hamlet ran and never looked back at the place the man laid. He didn’t want to think it could be him, any day.

~

Everything around him spiralled without warning. It made the air seem heavy and cold inside his lungs. It made him want to scream, to cry, to run. The voices he heard, the ghost of his father, it all made him feel like he was going insane. That reality was twisted for him. People didn't understand how he could be happy one day and so depressed the next. He didn't, either. He just wanted to stop all of that. Life was a train heading towards a cliff and Hamlet just needed it to stop for a moment. But he couldn't.

~ 

The last time he spoke to Horatio, he didn’t feel like anything else mattered, not really. His father has just died and Hamlet didn’t really know what to do now. He didn’t cry, it felt like it was weird to do so. Fake. Programmed. And so he didn’t. He woke up like always did, attended class, spoke to others. But inside, he felt like the storm was beginning to form. Horatio could see that. Somehow, he always could see through Hamlet.  
They stood in silent for some time. In eachother's embrace. Hamlet felt his cheeks begin to wet. Before he could push it all inside and go back to pretending none of that was real, his chest was shaking with broken sobs. He couldn’t stop.  
So Horatio waited.

~ 

He didn't want it to happen like it did. He never wanted that. He just wanted to stop the voices. The thoughts that made him unable to see a future. That blamed him for the slightest mistake. That made him kill, lie and destroy everything he loved. He knew Horatio would miss him. He knew that the feeling of being left behind could poison all it touched. But he needed to be in silence. He couldn't live knowing the king was a murdered and he was insane. That Ophelia got caught up in the fire and left him too. Guilt leaves a bitter taste in you mouth and Hamlet knew that all too well.  
As the candle burned out, the storm came to an end. The soft rain made its way the the ground one last time and it was over. Hamlet stood there, alone. In the dark, he smiled.  
"I'm so sorry, I really did want to stay some more"  
And with that, silence.


End file.
